


Détente

by Just_Another_Day



Series: miles of distance, and none at all [1]
Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Auguste (Captive Prince) Lives, Battle, Brotherly Love, Earning Respect, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Honor, Minor Character Death, Prequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-01 20:17:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15151031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Just_Another_Day/pseuds/Just_Another_Day
Summary: "You allowed me a reprieve. I will grant you the same courtesy this once. Go see to your King."





	Détente

**Author's Note:**

> So I actually never realised it before I actively tried to figure out the timeline at Marlas, but it seems canon contradicts itself about the order in which Aleron and Auguste died. In Captive Prince, Damen recalls that Auguste single-handedly held the Veretian army together and rallied their forces after the King's death. But in Kings Rising, it's said that the King was killed by an arrow because he removed his helm once he'd heard his son was dead. So hey, I figure let's just split the difference here. What if King Aleron was instead killed smack in the middle of when Auguste and Damen were fighting?
> 
> Basically, I just want to finally(!) write an Auguste Lives AU that is actually supposed to be taken seriously. I'm posting this separately rather than as a prologue to the main fic because the rest will all be in Laurent's PoV, but I really wanted a chance to write Auguste here.

The sword arced through the air before skittering along the dirt, coming to rest some ten feet away. His opponent's eyes followed the sword's progress as if magnetised even as he staggered back slightly out of Auguste's range. He was clearly shocked to find the blade no longer in his now-empty hand, which had a fresh trail of blood dripping from the back of it where the tip of Auguste's own sword had just caught him. The stab of pain had caused him to reflexively loosen his grip. His widened eyes pronounced that he hadn't expected for a moment that he could find himself in this vulnerable position, despite the fact that he must surely have heard of Auguste's abilities.

Auguste felt a small flare of empathy, for he intimately knew the bone-deep arrogance that naturally came hand-in-hand with having skill with a sword that was unchallenged among one's own people. Auguste had personally managed to mature beyond some of that youthful swagger over these past few years since he'd attained his majority. But this man had yet to have that chance, being barely old enough to have stopped growing physically, never mind mentally and emotionally. Of course he would have come into this not believing it possible that he could lose. Now the evidence was suddenly suggesting otherwise.

Though he hadn't actually lost _yet_ , of course, because Auguste found his sword arm falling, not to end the confrontation with a decisive strike, but to temporarily point his sword harmlessly at the ground.

He could practically hear his father's commanding voice pointing out that this was the man who had actively sought Auguste out with the intention of ending his life, and who right before Auguste's eyes had cut down the last few brave men who had lasted this far into the battle standing at his side as his Prince's Guard. And yet still Auguste could not swing his sword at an unarmed man. 

"Pick it up," Auguste instructed.

Damianos's expression was openly wary, as if he suspected that Auguste would use the moment in which he bent down to retrieve his weapon to cut into him and finish this. Auguste wanted to be irritated by that, but he was no fool; he knew the history of their countries, and that the Akielons thought no better of Veretian honour than his own countrymen thought of Akielos in turn. Damianos currently had no real reason to acknowledge that Auguste, at least, was certainly not that kind of man. But he would know in a moment, once he'd returned his sword to his grip without incident and been allowed to ready himself to fight.

Auguste could see the confusion, the reassessment, once Damianos had successfully armed himself once more. And it wasn't just the lack of helm in the way that made those emotions easy to read on Damianos's face, Auguste thought. He seemed to have an artlessness about him that was strange for a man who would one day have to wear his kingdom's crown and face the intrigues of politics. But then, Auguste wasn't sure he really had grounds to judge, given how Laurent frequently complained that Auguste couldn't hide his true feelings to save himself. So perhaps their respective skill on the battlefield wasn't the only way in which the two princes were alike.

Auguste would never have thought to find common ground with an Akielon with whom he had, less than a minute ago, been violently clashing swords, each with the intent of killing the other. And yet here they were. Perhaps…

That moment, in which they both held back from fighting, stretched persistently. The sounds of battle still raging in the field around them, which Auguste had mostly tuned out during his own fights, filtered back into his awareness while he stood still and waiting. That was perhaps the only reason he even heard the distant blowing of a horn.

Even so, it still took Auguste a few seconds to fully wrap his mind around that sound and to interpret its meaning. Apparently he wasn't alone there, for the soldiers' calls of 'the King is in trouble' were delayed, and seemed uncertain even once they came. The men seemed unsure how to respond to the distress call when they were arguably in the midst of just as much trouble themselves and couldn't just disengage from the fight without being pursued and inviting dire consequences. Auguste would have shared their uncertainty, at that moment, if his mind had managed to process that much. Instead, it was blank.

Auguste's first thought, once thought even became possible again, was disbelief. His father was safe inside his tent, directing the battle from a safe distance. How could the Akielons have possibly gotten close to his position there, so far away from where Auguste had been holding back the front of the Akielon lines? Had they somehow managed to move a strike force unnoticed around and behind the entire Veretian army despite how the clear visibility across the open fields should have made that impossible? It made no sense.

His second thought was for Laurent. If there was danger enough behind the lines to threaten the most protected Veretian man on these fields, what of Auguste's brother? He had been relegated to some out-of-the-way corner of the back lines that was supposed to let the boy experience battle without directly tasting the true danger of it. Even back there, he was guarded in deference to his age and lack of experience, but if a few soldiers were all that stood between him and an incursion of Akielon soldiers…

_No._

Laurent would be well away from any risk. And Father was protected and battle-tested enough that he would, of course, be fine as well. He had to believe that.

Auguste wasn't going to let anything happen to them. He'd already lost his mother only months ago. He wasn't going to lose anyone else.

It startled Auguste when "Pull back and reform!" was called out loudly in Akielon. It took Auguste a moment, through the haze of his thoughts, to realise the cry had come from directly in front of him.

Apparently confident in his authority, Damianos didn't even bother to look to see whether his shouted orders were being followed. (Which they were, Auguste distantly recognised, as, unquestioningly loyal to their Prince's demands, Akielons echoed the instructions down their lines and began moving backwards away from their Veretian opponents, who were themselves, in the absence of clear orders, rendered motionless by the conflicting desires to go after their enemies and to retreat to protect their own). Instead, Damianos kept his eyes trained on Auguste. There was, Auguste could see, some shadow of surprise in them, as if he had no more expected the news that King Aleron was in peril than Auguste had. If the Akielons had attacked his father, Damianos didn't seem to know of it. 

"You allowed me a reprieve," Damianos said, surprisingly in Veretian so crisp that it was nearly accentless. "I will grant you the same courtesy this once. Go see to your King." 

The words made it sound like this was being done purely as a favour, or at least that it was only intended to balance the scales, but privately Auguste had to wonder whether Damianos might not also be eager to take the opportunity to himself regroup, given how lost he'd looked when Auguste had disarmed him and had him beaten. Though, at the same time, Auguste didn't claim to believe that this retreat was due to cowardice; he was certain that Damianos would have gathered himself and finished this fight one way or another, had they not been interrupted like this. And he would surely come for Auguste and try again, if he believed that Auguste gave him no other option, even though it was doubtful he would do so with the same cocky assumption of his success that had driven him to seek out Auguste the first time.

Auguste wasn't sure yet how to feel about that. There was no time to properly contemplate it. He had other, more pressing concerns.

As Damianos backed away – perhaps he thought better of Auguste's character for having let him rearm himself, but it was apparently still not quite well enough for him to willingly turn his vulnerable back to the Crown Prince of Vere – Auguste issued a loud order of his own: "Protect the King!"

In lieu of his Prince's Guard, who all lay unmoving on the ground around him, it was one of the many soldiers Auguste had ordered to stay back and not intervene while he fought the Akielon Prince who handed him the reins of a horse. Auguste was quick to mount and kick the horse into motion. He knew he was driving the horse to move too fast to be safe for the animal on the uneven ground, but just this once Auguste couldn't worry about his father's scornful disparagement of any man who couldn't properly handle his mount or his brother's upset at seeing a mistreated animal.

When Auguste reached the King's strategic tent at breakneck speed, it was to find that there was strangely no sign of any Akielons nearby. And although the area was teeming with Veretians, the King himself seemed not to be present among them. When Auguste practically hurled himself off the horse and through the tent flaps, it was to discover that a few of his father's advisors were, at least, still present, and were able to provide him with information that was useful, even if it was hardly welcome. 

Auguste felt as though he couldn't breathe when he ran for the physician's tent to which Herode had directed him, only to spy his father's personal physician standing near the open tent flap rather than inside attending to him. Given the way the physician only moved when he saw Auguste, it was clear that he'd been specifically awaiting the Crown Prince's arrival. He obviously had something to tell him.

Auguste couldn't even bring himself to ask. He didn't want to hear it.

The choice was taken out of his hands (probably for the last time in his life, because he would have to be the one making all the choices for his whole kingdom from here on out, wouldn't he?).

"It was an arrow," the physician said. His expression said the rest.

Past the ever-growing lump in his throat, Auguste forced himself to say, "Was it quick?"

"I can only assume. He was gone before his men could get him back here to me."

Whatever little air Auguste still had in his lungs left him, leaving him hollowed out. He stepped past the physician into the tent as much to seek out the privacy inside, where none of the abundance of soldiers, servants, and advisors who were converging on the area could see the wetness forming along their new King's lower lids – as to see for himself.

There was surprisingly little blood; perhaps the physician had already cleaned him in the time it took Auguste to get here. He looked whole apart from that one puncture. Auguste could almost believe that he would open his eyes any moment. Almost. But his skin was too pale, and his chest too still. There was no mistaking that Auguste was looking at a body rather than his father.

Auguste let brewing tears fall for a too-short span of time before he exerted all of his willpower to rein them back in. Later, he promised himself. For now, he didn't have the luxury of dealing with this. He had his people, and particularly his brother, to look after. 

When he was sure that his face was dry enough to escape comment, Auguste emerged from the tent.

"Where is Prince Laurent?" was the first and only thing that he loudly demanded of the advisors and guards who were still scurrying around the vicinity of the King's tent.

"Here," came a call in a familiar voice from the next tent over. 

Auguste found that he could breathe once more.

Laurent still looked pristine in his slightly-oversized armour, while Auguste was covered in mud and other men's blood, among other things. Yet Auguste cared far less for preserving his brother's state of cleanliness than he did for physically reassuring himself that Laurent truly was untouched by any of this. So he didn't hesitate to practically pick his brother's slight figure entirely up off the ground in an encompassing hug. Laurent didn't even complain that Auguste was making him dirty, the way he might have under other circumstances.

"The guards Father assigned to me dragged me back here like a recalcitrant child and shoved me inside, and no one will let me leave or tell me anything," Laurent said. His breath was strong and warm against Auguste's ear, so closely were they pressed to each other. "But I did manage to overhear someone saying that Father rode out to help when he was informed Akielos's best fighter had cornered you."

Auguste choked on air, or perhaps on shock. Why would Father have done such a thing? Had he been that convinced that Auguste couldn't win the fight; that he needed rescuing? Auguste had been the one to draw first blood from Damianos, who hadn't put more than a bruise or two on Auguste in turn. He'd proven that he was capable of winning when he'd disarmed Damianos, and Auguste was sure he could have finished off the fight fairly, on his own terms, if it had recommenced. He hadn't needed Father's assistance. And even if he had, Father still shouldn't have tried to come for him. 

Father shouldn't have died. Not for him.

"I don't know the details yet," Auguste admitted. "We'll have to talk to one of Father's advisors, or to Uncle."

"But not to Father himself," Laurent said, not quite a question. His eyes were dark with a realisation that no boy of not-quite-fourteen should have to experience.

"No," Auguste agreed. "Not to Father."

Arms tightened slightly around the back of Auguste's neck, though Laurent would probably never acknowledge that he'd done that. He was always too independent to want to appear 'clingy'. As if learning that he'd just been orphaned wouldn't be considered more than reason enough to want to hold on a little tighter to what he had left.

Still, Laurent did verbally admit, "I'm glad you, at least, are okay." His voice cracked slightly. There was a dampness spreading at Auguste's shoulder, where Laurent had pressed his face. Auguste couldn't be sure if the tears were of mourning or relief; Laurent had never been anywhere near as close to Father as Auguste, after all. Either way, Auguste didn't draw attention to the show of emotion. Laurent would be uncomfortable with it, despite Auguste being the only one present to witness it. 

He also didn't match Laurent's tears with his own, but it was a near thing.

"I'm so relieved you're all right as well," Auguste said. It was his turn to tighten his grip. "When the horn came from the back, I thought…"

"You needn't have worried. I was absolutely fine the whole time. I didn't even have to draw my sword," Laurent assured him.

"Good," Auguste said. "We're going to keep it that way. No more battles for you, I think, until you at least stand taller than my shoulder."

Pulling back far enough that he could look Auguste in the eye, Laurent asked, "Does that mean this battle's over now? Did you win against the Prince of Akielos?" 

"Neither of us won or lost. We were at a pause on our fight when the horn was blown. We each agreed to withdraw for a time."

A furrow formed between Laurent's pale eyebrows. "What does that mean, 'a pause'?" 

"I had disarmed him and told him to pick up his sword. We hadn't yet moved to clash again."

Laurent gave him that look that he and their mother had often had in common, where they were visibly wondering if they were the only sensible people in all of Vere and beyond. His arms fell away from Auguste to position themselves on his hips; that too was a stark reminder of Mother.

Flatly, Laurent said, "You told your adversary to pick up his sword. After you'd already rightfully disarmed him. In the middle of a fight to the death. Against a man I've heard described as being as large as a bear and just as deadly."

"I could hardly do otherwise," Auguste countered, which earned a disbelieving look from Laurent. "Not when he was unarmed. Besides, he could equally have cut me down moments later when I heard the horn. I was so distracted that I might as well have been disarmed as well. He didn't do it either, as you can see."

"That was probably a trick to make you feel indebted to him so you'd just hand over Delfeur."

Auguste didn't think so. Why bother with the uncertainty of such a scheme? Damianos could have just put his sword through Auguste instead of calling off his army, if that was all he cared about. And Auguste knew that he'd recognised an inherent honesty in Damianos. Auguste might not spent every moment analysing others' reactions to try to find even the tiniest of weaknesses, the way he suspected some of the court at Arles did, but Auguste wasn't entirely gullible either. Laurent hadn't inherited _all_ of the brains in the family. Auguste was perfectly capable of looking at the evidence and coming to the conclusion that Damianos had not engineered any of this to get Auguste to let down his guard. He wasn't that kind of man. 

It seemed likely that he was, instead, the kind of man who might be reasoned with.

"You _aren't_ just going to hand over Delfeur, are you?" Laurent asked when Auguste apparently took too long to respond.

"I'm starting to wonder if that isn't the better option at this point," Auguste admitted. "Over half our forces have already fallen. We're outnumbered more than three to one, and our King is dead. At what point do we decide it's enough, if not now?"

"It's only enough when we win."

"Those are the King's words, not yours," Auguste pointed out. 

" _You're_ our King now," Laurent contradicted. "And the men have been following you like you've been their true ruler all throughout this battle anyway. You can rally them together and drive Akielos back from our lands. I know you can!" But Auguste couldn't ignore the fact that the words had an air of desperation about them, as if Laurent was barely managing to force himself to suggest that Auguste should return to the front.

In the heat of battle, if he'd been given no pause for consideration, Auguste would probably have done just as Laurent described. The only other option he would have been able to see under those circumstances would have been to let the news of Father's death weaken him and make him falter, which was no option at all. But now he did have that time to think, and he had Laurent right in front of him as a reminder that he wasn't just risking himself if he allowed the fighting to recommence.

"Perhaps I could push Akielos back as you suggest," Auguste said, "and I will do what I can to make that happen, if it comes to that. But King Theomedes is at least as stubborn as Father, so I suspect he would hang on and fight even a losing battle for long enough that 'victory' would come at the cost of most of our remaining soldiers' lives."

Thoughtfully, Laurent considered, "And it might be an empty and temporary win anyway if we lose so many people that there aren't enough soldiers left to hold the region a second time, once Akielos thinks to pull in more of their forces and attack again."

"Exactly," said Auguste. "It was Father who thought that would be a risk worth taking in order to try to hang on to Delfeur. And I followed his lead because he was my King. But now, if I'm to be King… I care more for Veretian lives than land, Laurent. I always have. For King Theomedes, on the other hand, the land seems to be everything; I think by comparison he doesn't give much of a damn either way about the people currently living on that land. If we could come to an accord, where we were given a grace period to relocate the Veretians residing in Delfeur back across the new border rather than just leaving them to the 'mercies' of the Akielons, then all we'd be losing would be the land itself and a few crops. It might be a valuable area, and our coffers would take a hit, but not a critical one. I could accept that as the price of peace."

"They'll just keep pushing further into Vere, if we don't show strong resistance now," Laurent warned. Those were almost the exact words their father had ordered his commanders to use when they went through Vere recruiting additional men to take up arms in this battle. It had been a kind of scare tactic to make men who otherwise would have stayed at home with their families don armour and weapons that they weren't truly prepared to wield under the perception that they _had_ to do so to help keep their loved ones safe from would-be invaders. Auguste couldn't deny it had been effective, but he still hadn't really approved of Father's methods. Particularly now that many of those men lay dead, those words left something of a bad taste in his mouth.

For once, Auguste wasn't asking for what Father's opinion would be. It hurt to think it, but he had to acknowledge that the time for that had passed. What he really wanted was to know his little brother's honest thoughts. He said as much.

Laurent worried his lower lip between his teeth for a moment – a bad habit that he would have to shake as he grew, for it was his only real tell that he was considering whether to tell the truth or not – before he let his lip go on a sigh. Instead of just continuing to say what others might think the Prince of Vere ought to in this situation, he chose to say nothing.

But Auguste knew the truth even so: first and foremost, Laurent just didn't want to lose his brother. Auguste could not fault him for that selfishness, for he felt the same.

Auguste nodded, as if Laurent had given him an answer after all. "All right. I think our best chance to keep everyone safe is if we resolve this through talk rather than bloodshed. And if we could stop the fighting, that would be worth making some concessions. We were at peace for years. We could be again, if King Theomedes will agree to a treaty in exchange for what he came to Delfeur for."

"And you'd just rely on the promises of faithless barbarians?" Laurent asked.

Auguste thought of Damianos, who hadn't seemed particularly 'faithless' when he chose to answer Auguste's show of honour in kind. Auguste thought he might be able to take him at his word if it was offered, actually. 

Of course, it wouldn't be Prince Damianos with whom Auguste would ultimately be treating.

But: "It would be more than just words on paper holding them back," Auguste reasoned. "Delfeur has been a disputed region for a century now. It wasn't so very long ago that it belonged to Akielos. So it wouldn't have exactly surprised anyone when they marched to regain it as soon as they saw an opportunity." The fact that their mother's death, and the subsequent loss of their ties with Kempt, had been viewed as an 'opportunity' had admittedly angered and disgusted Auguste, and contributed to his willingness to take up his sword at his father's order, but his own personal feelings on the matter were hardly more important than protecting Vere, so he chose not to mention that now. Laurent probably already knew as much without needing it said; very little slipped past him, especially when it came to Auguste. So he continued, "But if Akielos thinks to expand its territories further than Delfeur, into areas of Vere over which they never had any claim, the other countries that share our borders will have to wonder: if Akielos will invade Vere without provocation, especially in contravention of a treaty, what's stopping them from suffering the same fate? I don't think Akielos would want to risk alienating Patras, or angering the vast armies of the Vaskian Empire in particular."

Laurent pointed out, "This is all assuming they'll even agree to a parley. That's hardly a certainty, considering that Father answered their last call for negotiations with a crass messenger and renewed fighting."

Auguste thought of Prince Damianos, who might have perceived the same similarities between them that Auguste had, and who certainly had his father's ear.

"All we can ever do is try," was all Auguste said.

"Mother used to quote that at us."

"I know," Auguste agreed. "I always thought they were words to live by." Perhaps more so than any of the more specific lessons Father had tutors drill into Auguste's head in an effort to prepare him for this exact day, when he would have to stand tall as King.

Laurent said, "You're too trusting by half, but you're still going to be a great King, you know. The greatest in Vere's history."

"Only because I'm going to have the best advisor." 

"Don't use false flattery against me," Laurent warned. "It won't work, even from you." Though the sudden slight pinkness to his cheeks belied that somewhat.

"It isn't false," Auguste said firmly. "I trust your opinion, and you're already more clever than most men several times your age. That will only increase as you gain experience to match your intelligence."

"I won't be much of an advisor if you won't heed my advice when it runs counter to your too-good nature, though."

"I'll always listen to you," Auguste promised.

Crossing his arms, Laurent said, "In that case, I'm advising you to do whatever it takes to keep yourself safe, and not to give your enemy the chance to aim a weapon at you when you'd otherwise have them beaten. Whether this ends in more fighting or a meeting with the Akielons, make sure you come back here in one piece."

Auguste knew he couldn't truly promise that. He obviously wasn't capable of seeing the future; if he was, he'd have seen his father's death coming, and might have been able to do something about it. But Auguste thought that Laurent would appreciate hearing a reassurance that nothing bad would happen to Auguste more than he would want for Auguste to assure him that even if things didn't go according to plan for Auguste, Laurent would be fine; that he would one day be a great King himself. 

So Auguste swore, "I'm not going to leave you alone, Laurent. I'll always come back to you."

As Auguste finally interrupted their time alone together by calling in a messenger to be dispatched to King Theomedes, he could only hope that he wouldn't prove himself a liar any time soon.

After all, he would do just about anything to spare Laurent the level of wrenching heart-sickness that Auguste had already experienced today.


End file.
